It is true, you can never have too much money in London, but the most enjoyable time I usually have is just walking the garden-lined streets. So much history in every nook and cranny. You could walk for miles and never get bored. Packing and leaving in the AM. It’s been a bittersweet visit, but the city itself seems more gorgeous than I remember it to ever be.

 

Currently in London and too depressed to write anything of substance. You know what’s worse than banging your head against a wall? Watching someone else do it. And trying to hand them a helmet. And having them smack it out of your hand. That is what I’m dealing with. London, such a significant important city, but for me it has always been about that side of my family that I rarely see, but also relish in their presence. I have had many a good time in this town, but this week has been hell. Funny enough, the weather is spectacular, like a perfect summer, so unreal. But my aunt’s dementia and refusal to allow people to help her do anything is wearing me down to the bone. It’s two steps forward, three steps back. An entire day wheeling her around only to have her disregard everything that people try to do for her. The sabotage, the fear, the loathing. I am ready to run away. When you drop everything in your life for a “dire emergency” and then have that person not even acknowledge or accept your help. So here I am, alone at the moment, hiding out in an apartment that is literally across the street from my aunt’s home, feeling like I want to run or punch something. I missed Roky Erickson for this. So frustrating. My uncle Pierre in Montreal has been helping me defuse via text, but his feeling is, get out of there, let the someone else deal with it. But there isn’t anyone else at the moment. Give me a sign, that this wasn’t in vain. Or make me laugh, anything. I can’t afford to phone a friend. I guess I will “like” things on social media and read about the carnage of the world until the sun comes up and I can go put flowers on my grandmother’s grave.